


Hotter Than Meteorites

by mudkipwrites



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Alien/Human Relationships, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Begging, Canon Rewrite, Enemies to Lovers, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Xeno, Zeb is good at recruiting for the rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:13:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23586682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites
Summary: When a certain Imperial goes into heat while stranded upon an ice moon, he finds himself begging for the only other warm body around.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 32
Kudos: 244





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PuckishTempest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuckishTempest/gifts).



> Kalluzebs can have a little ABO, as a treat.

* * *

ONE

* * *

It’s not until the heat _inside_ of Alexandr Kallus’ body burns hotter than the meteorite held in his freezing hands that he admits to the very real trouble he’s in. 

For decades now, the ISB agent has carefully maintained his heat-cycle regimen to avoid situations like this. Although he is not the only Omega working for the Empire, he is by _far_ the one who has risen the highest to the top. As such, Agent Kallus has gone to great lengths to carefully guard what he considers the greatest physiological secret, and to keep himself healthy and safe. He has even gone so far as to plan out his sick days ahead of time, so that he can take a brief leave of absence to relax _(or seek pleasure_ ) during his heat experiences. Each and every day since his first presentation, Alexsandr Kallus has dutifully applied his hormonal suppressants and his scent-blockers, and taken care to avoid dangerous scenarios. 

Except for right now, of course. Except for the fact that _this_ morning, he’d become _terribly_ distracted by his pursuit of the Spectre rebels--and he’d _stupidly_ thrown himself into his present predicament. Crash-landed upon a stars-forsaken ice moon. Stranded alongside his sworn enemy (a _Lasat, no less!)._ And rapidly deteriorating into the throes of his heat, with neither the medication nor the privacy to enjoy it as he’d prefer. 

_Karabast!_ he swears internally, echoing the Lasat. _If I had not allowed myself to get so sloppy, I would be prepared for a disaster like this! If I had simply kept my focus, I would_ not _be here: I would have a backup supply with me that could last me for days, no matter the circumstances. But_ now _, at the_ very _worst time possible, I am stuck here without stimulants, without assistance--and--_ he shifts uncomfortably-- _in the presence of my nemesis._

Whose musk is beginning to smell _very good,_ by the way. 

Kallus groans, gritting his teeth and pushing his back into the icy floor of the cave beneath him. The soothing chill only helps a little to ease the building, radiant heat that is melting its way through the core of his body. 

From the edge of the cave, the rebel Lasat makes a rumbling sound of concern. 

“You okay there, Agent Kallus?” 

The human huffs with irritation. _His voice,_ he thinks, shifting against the earth. _Since when has that low, rumbling baritone of a voice done this to me?_ Kallus draws an armored forearm across his sweating forehead. 

“I am _fine,_ Garazeb Orrelios,” he replies grumpily. 

_Zeb,_ as his crew calls him, has been nothing but an arrogant ass since they’ve crash-landed. _It’s his fault anyway,_ Kallus thinks angrily to himself, _foolish beast of a rebel!_ He had been seconds from bringing in the fourth Spectre when the escape pod had launched both of them towards Genonosis’ ice moon. He’d only had just enough time to squabble with the enormous creature before they had careened into the moon, leaving Kallus with a broken, twisted leg and without any power to contact Imperial backup. Without _suppressants._

The Lasat makes a noise of disbelief, but he still keeps his distance. 

If Kallus did not know any better, he would guess that the other man is detecting _exactly_ what is going on within him: the fact that his insides are writhing and twisting with want; the fact that his skin is rapidly perspiring, releasing the call of his sickly-sweet pheromones; the fact that his brain is slowly fading away from function, and moving into the mantras of _‘need this’_ and _‘fill me’_ and _‘dear stars, have mercy, I’m ready and willing’..._

But Garazeb Orrelios is, evidently, a powerful Spectre. 

For all the information that Kallus cannot prevent from releasing, it seems that his distaste for Imperials prevents him from drawing even close enough to share the heat of their meteorite. Instead, the Lasat is quietly murmuring into the broken transmitter that he’s been fiddling with, avoiding Kallus as though he carries an unsavory stink.

“Are--are you not _cold?”_ the human pants. 

The question is for purely selfish reasons. Kallus knows that the Lasat can handle himself--he had seen as much when the man had thrown him over his shoulder to carry him, or when he’d evaded the predatory lizard-birds-- but his body is _weak_ for contact, and he would prefer to have the other man at least _sitting_ closer. 

Garazeb turns. His green eyes flicker over Kallus’ frame, absorbing the sight of him panting and shivering against the cave floor. _Don’t you dare,_ Kallus thinks fiercely, _see me as pathetic!_ True, there is little pride left within him: he had accepted the heated, golden stone from his enemy, as easily as he had allowed himself to be thrown bridal-style out of the cave. But all of this doesn’t change the fact that the other man is a rebel. Or a _Lasat._

“Aren’t _you?”_ the Spectre asks. His intense, emerald-green gaze pins him to the spot. “Looks to me like yer _shiverin’,_ Agent Kallus.” 

The sound of Garazeb’s voice makes him close his eyes. 

_Kark! Kriff!! I want--that is, I need to--_

“N- _no._ I am perfectly fine, Rebel Orrelios,” Kallus answers sharply. “The clothing that the Empire provides is wholly sufficient.” And yet, even in his solid protest, he knows that his voice sounds thin and strained. 

A look of concern crosses Garazeb’s face, and Kallus feels a wave of furious embarrassment. However, as the Lasat approaches, his stomach gives way into a rolling tremor of _pleasure._

 _Oh, I_ want _this. I want_ him _. The Lasat, the rebel, I need him to take me and--_

He forces out a shuddering breath. 

_Control. Focus._

“I am n-not cold. In fact, I am feeling well enough to be _warm_.” 

The smell of the Lasat permeates his nostrils thick and heavy, and Kallus cannot bear to remain still any longer. He opens his eyes and presses his gloved palms into the cold floor. The ice of it bites against the holes where his skin is exposed, but he feels as though he can melt the stone as he gazes up at the creature before him. 

“Yer _sweatin,’”_ Garazeb points out quietly. “Agent Kallus, s’it possible that you’ve got a fever?” 

He does not sound like someone who wants his enemy to die from illness on a glacial planet. The rebel sounds like someone who is concerned for the well-being of a fellow person, and wants to do what he can to help. 

_Oh, yes, he can_ help _! I_ want _him to help me. I want him to draw me open, to hold me down, to tear off my trousers and--_

“Ah, perhaps,” Kallus replies through gritted teeth. 

The familiar, _glorious_ voice of his heat is echoing loudly through his head. It is familiar, _hot,_ and encouraging him to find and to _take_ the penetrating assistance he craves. When he is on leave, it is a simple matter: Kallus locks all his doors, strips himself down, and impales himself, aching and sweating, upon a variety of his custom-made, oversized cocks. There _have_ been those rare occasions in which his increasing array toys cannot satisfy him--and, on those occasions, he has arranged ahead of time for ‘help’ to come over. Help that, so often, is distinctly _against_ the xeno protocol of the Empire. 

He regrets his preference for inhuman lovers again at this particular moment. 

“Maybe yer leg is gettin’ infected,” the Lasat offers. For some reason, he sounds a bit strained himself. “Maybe we need to take that rig apart, an’ I can get another med-pack under that.” 

Kallus’ throat constricts. _YES. Oh, stars, Garazeb, yes!!! Come closer, take my clothes off, bend me over and--_

“No! Ah, I m-mean, no thank-you,” the agent rasps. “A-as much as I appreciate your offer, Zeb, I do not want to even _look_ at my leg right now. No. It hurts, and I’d rather just leave it secured. Thanks.”

The Lasat is now looming over him. His slitted eyes seem to be dilated, and his mouth is open as he huffs in breaths through both his nose and mouth. 

“You...you called me _‘Zeb,’_ ” the rebel states. 

Kallus feels an intense rush of attraction. His hands twitch against his sides, and he raises one shaking hand to wipe at the blonde hair that has fallen out of place from his squirming and sweating. As he does, he watches Zeb’s eyes tracing his actions. 

“T-that’s your _name,_ isn’t it?” he replies, doing his best to snap off the retort. 

He doesn’t. He sounds like he’s _whining._

Zeb hears it, too. His ears rotate forward, and his eyebrows droop heavily over his eyes. Kallus watches as his slick, grey-blue tongue flicks out of his upturned mouth, wetting the lips pulling over sharp, glistening teeth. 

_Fuck me,_ he thinks desperatly. _Fuck me, right now._

“Agent Kallus…” Garazeb murmurs. His voice is low, and the short, purple fur on the back of his neck and shoulders seems to be stiffening. “You...ya wouldn’t happen to be...thinkin’....”

Feeling a breaking wave of heat and sweat, Kallus lets out a moan. He tilts his sweating head back against the cave floor, and rolls his pelvis upward invitingly. The motion sends a jolting crave for friction through his body, and his second moan comes in more of a gasp. 

“... _Oh.”_

Kallus cracks open his golden eyes and peeks through blonde lashes to see the Lasat staring at him. Like the human, his body seems to be responding to their present situation through the expression of a _tremendous_ erection. It presses, thick and tall, against the outline of his yellow-orange jumpsuit--and it takes every last bit of his willpower not to _beg._

“S-spectre Orrelios... _Zeb…”_ he begins, forcing himself to breathe deeply as he speaks these words, “I h-have found myself in the...unfortunate situation of...approaching the climax of my heat cycle. While we are here on this ice moon. Right _now.”_

Impossibly, the strained outline of Zeb’s jumpsuit only increases. 

“I...I realize how incredibly _foolish_ this sounds,” Kallus pants. “But I want to make an offer to you. I have…” He closes his eyes. “It is my preference to spend my heat with p-partners who are... _not_ human. I am, as you can see, rapidly needing the touch of a partner.” 

_Get on with it._

“ _Kallus_ …” Zeb’s voice is low, interested. 

“T-that is to say: I invite you to choose one of two options. One: I a-ask you to exit this c-cave, never to return. Y-you can leave knowing that you have finally won this battle between us, and that there s-shall be no need for a r-rematch.” 

The next wave of wanting is so strong that Kallus actually is forced to stop talking. He hisses through his teeth, finally allowing one of his hands to move towards the zip of his trousers. 

_SPIT IT OUT ALREADY!_

“Two: I ask you to c-come over here and-d _f-fuck me._ Until I cannot _breathe._ And then, if it s-suits you, we resume our feud at another time.” 

_YESSss._

The Lasat’s eyes have opened wide once again. In them, Kallus can see his reflection-- dishevelled, wanton, loose-haired and _hard--_ and he knows that he has only _moments_ left. Moments until he descends into a headspace in which only his pleasure takes control of his life.

“P-please make your decision,” he moans, “and _fast._ I do not have much longer.” 

Something fierce and hungry shifts in the rebel’s eyes. Zeb lifts a hand to run over the standing hair on the back of his neck. His thick, powerful chest is heaving under his armored jumpsuit, and Kallus can practically feel the heat of it fanning over him from the short distance between them. It makes his skin _burn._

“That is...some proposal, there, Agent.” 

He drifts his massive, four-fingered, purple hand down to drift over and massage at his cock. Even in the enormity of his hands, the length of it spans upwards and touches his forearm. 

_KARABAST. DAMMIT. ACCEPT MY INVITATION._

“Alexsandr,” he groans, undoing his fly. “If y-you stay, I will n-need you to call me by Alexsandr.” 

_YES._

The Lasat drops to his knees, crawling towards Kallus. 

_You’re never wrong,_ he thinks with blissful amusement to his heat’s voice. _Somehow, that soppy stuff did it. Rebels, and their intimacy!_ Now that his body is about to receive what it wants, Kallus himself is feeling a bit more lucid (one of the many gifts of treating himself right, of carefully listening to his needs over the years). The Omega within him trusts Alexsandr enough to make a few, _limited_ decisions before his body fully gives way into the rutting. 

“ _...Alexsandr…”_ Zeb purrs. 

(Actually _purrs--_ the Lasat makes a noise like a great, jungle space-cat, with his throat and his body vibrating visibly with the low sound. It does _wonders_ for Kallus’ twisting insides.)

“ _Yes,”_ he groans in reply. “Yes, please, _please, Zeb._ I want you. I _need_ you.”

Internally screaming with relief at speaking these words aloud, Kallus raises his shaking hand. He trails his fingertips in a stroking motion along the rounded edge of Zeb’s straining erection. 

“I...I _need to feel that inside of me_ . _NOW._ ”

Zeb groans, pulling himself over until he is hanging just above his body. 

The great Lasat allows his knees to sink down on either side of the sweating human, each one of his breaths a delicious, _hot_ puff of trembling air. He looks torn between excitement and anxiety, and seems to be wrestling with an idea inside of his head. 

“I haven’t…” Zeb lowers his mouth to Alexsandr’s ear, as if they might be overheard. “I _have_ done this, of course, _but…._ I haven’t been with a _human_ before.” His eyes glitter with emotion. _Desire. Concern._ “I don...I don’ wanna _hurt_ ya.” 

Alexsandr releases a laugh that is closer to a moan by nature. With trembling hands, he allows himself to raise his gloved fingertips to Zeb’s head, touching the purple, velvet-smooth short-fur of his face. He threads his fingertips over the other man, caressing his powerful temple, hands coming to rest tenderly on his bristling jaw.

“J-just think about how equally matched we are as opponents,” he hears himself saying. “Think about how much _you_ could endure...and _give. that. to. ME!”_

This is Alexsandr Kallus’ last coherent thought (if it might be called that). After those words, the dam has broken free: and every bit of his lust, need, and longing is biting and clawing its way out of him. 

“ _Fuck me, NOW.”_

Zeb groans and lowers his head in agreement. He rubs his purple beard into Alexsandr’s golden mutton chops, stirring up a strange and fluttering feeling inside of the man. Before he can move to the other side, the human throws his arms around Zeb--small, compared to the great muscles of the Lasat--and presses their mouths into a kiss. It’s... _good._ Zeb is much bigger than him, and with far more fangs, but the wet sliding-scrape of teeth against teeth and lips against lips hits the spot within Alexsandr that is _aching_. 

When they break apart, a long string of saliva connects them. The sight makes him gasp and squirm, thrusting his hips wantingly upward into the gap of air between them. 

“ _Karabast,”_ Zeb growls. His dark pupils are blown wide, and he looks as wild as the agent feels. “That’s...that’s pretty kriffin’ _good_ , Alexsandr.” Zeb remains bracketed above him, not touching, arms shaking and braced around his lover. 

Alexsandr groans at hearing his private, protected name fall from his nemesis’ lips. He _only_ uses it for intimate scenarios such as this--and _never_ before with an enemy. Carried away by the absurd vulnerability of it all, he rolls his head to the side, submitting and exposing his neck for the Lasat. Zeb gets the message andimmediately begins to lave his bristled tongue over his open throat. 

He hears himself begging and whimpering. 

“T-that’s good, too!” he gasps. “ _More._ MORE, Zeb!” 

Zeb agrees. 

He begins to knead his huge, clawed hands into Alexsandr’s chest, moving and disrupting the armored clothing there. In a desperate haze, he begins to tear at the neckline of his shirt, unbuckling the clasps and the zips with far more haste then he could have accomplished himself. Zeb helps the process along, licking and kissing and tearing his clothing apart. 

“D-don’t ruin it, I’ve still got to-- _AH!”_

Alexsandr arches upward as Zeb’s mouth moves to licking against his chest. His rough tongue rakes over the tender flesh, sparking pleasure and pain over his red-hot, sensitized nipples. The human thrashes and howls as he falls deeper into the grip of his heat, and the Lasat growls and nuzzles into his navel with sharp, biting kisses. 

“Ye’ve only got _one thing_ left to do…” Zeb replies, mouth and hands pulling against Alexsandr’s belt. “ _Me.”_

Alexsandr could not agree _more_ with the Lasat as his trousers are shucked from his hips, belt unceremoniously broken from its holsters. Without time to protest, his mouth is covered in a rough, sliding attempt at a human kiss again--and then, Zeb is moving to the human’s erection, his scalding, wet mouth fanning over his fabric-covered head. 

“I-I need _yours_ in _m-mine!”_ Alexsandr protests. _Take what you want._ He rolls his hips upwards to the Lasat’s panting mouth, feeling strong hands gripping beneath his ass. “Y-you don’t have to--” 

Zeb snarls, making him fall into silence. Then, the Lasat is mouthing the outline of his erection through his thin pants, bringing him instantly into rock-hard firmness. 

“Yer gonna let me do this _right,”_ the rebel commands, tugging at the stretchy binding of the undergarments. “If I’m gonna fuck you, I’m gonna do it _well.”_

Alexsandr practically starts sobbing at that. He has encountered intentional, devoted escorts once or twice during his vacations--but he is _also_ used to ones who have a very _specific_ , precise way of pleasuring Omegas. He has never _once_ recieved an attempted blow job. 

“D’don’t bite my dick off,” he manages to choke out in warning. 

Zeb looks up at him. He winks. “No promises,” he says. 

He descends upon him. 

_KARABAST! MORE! MORE OF THIS!_ His body demands. Alexsandr screams and cries and writhes and thrusts as the Lasat takes him all the way into his throat, allowing the human’s blunt shaft to hit the back of his mouth and the curling, golden hair of his pubes to settle against his flattened nose. Alexsandr finds himself in tears of ecstasy as he gazes down through wet eyelashes at his lover, watching himself sliding in and out of that scorching, slippery heat. 

The Lasat pops off for a moment. 

“How many does an Omega get?” 

Alexsandr looks dumbly at Zeb. _What are you doing??? Why isn’t your mouth on me???_ His body burns for continued contact. 

“Huh?” 

Zeb snorts. “How many orgasms do you get, Alexsandr?” He tilts his head to the side. “How many times do I have the pleasure of making you come?” 

The human groans, head falling back in astounded pleasure. 

“D-don’t know, depends on the time. Four or five?” 

This is, apparently, what the Lasat had hoped for, because his mouth returns to Alexsandr in earnest, pulling and pumping and _slurping_ around him. The ISB agent gasps, then _sobs,_ digging his hands into the fur standing upon Zeb’s shoulders. 

_Good. So good. So, so so good…._

In a rush--faster than he is acquainted with--Alexsandr feels himself beginning to come. He urgently slaps at Zeb’s head, trying to give the rebel some warning, but then he is yelling out and gushing into the other man’s mouth, feeling his release pouring onto the waiting tongue. 

When Zeb pulls back--glistening, grinning, and licking his chops--Alexsander thinks that he might pass out. _Stars. Oh, stars, he’s good. He’s lovely. He’s VERY good. I want--I need--_ the Lasat laughs and digs his clawed grip into his thighs, marvelling at how the human is already growing hard again. 

“You weren’t kiddin’!” he exclaims delightedly. “Oh, this is gonna be _way_ better than I expected!” 

Alexsandr cannot tear his eyes off the other man as he begins undoing the straps of his jumpsuit. Thoroughly outside of his element of control, he allows his mouth to pour with eagerness and profanities as his eyes relish each, slowly-revealed part of his form. 

When Zeb finally reveals his cock, Alexsander feels his insides _thrash._

“Like what you see?” the Lasat asks, stroking one hand up and down his commendable organ.

His penis is similar in shape, format and function to his human one--the slit at the top is even dripping with pearlesecent pre-cum--despite its enormous size and girth. _Perfect,_ Alexsandr thinks hungrily, _given my proclivities._

It seems as though his openly-desperate gaze speaks enough for him, because the Lasat laughs out loud once again. As he throws back his head and his strong shoulders shake, his glistening, enormous cock bobs up and down temptingly before Alexsandr.

“ _Please,”_ he hears himself hissing. “Please, _please Zeb. Now.”_

At once, all traces of humor fall away from the Lasat’s face. Alexsandr shudders as it is replaced with a vicious, single-sighted determination. If his eyes did not glitter with a kindness that he cannot place, he would be _very_ afraid. 

“Yeah. I’m gonna,” Zeb growls. “Just open up them pretty legs for me.”

The human sobs with relief as he feels first one soaking finger, then two, work their way between his slickened folds. It does not matter that he had not had the presence to bring lubrication with him--Zeb has worked him wet with the pull of his mouth, the slick of his shaft, the wetness of Alexsandr’s own labia. Grinding his hips against the hand that still holds him firmly, he fucks himself onto the thick fingers thrusting in and out of his body. As he begins to lose himself in the rhythm, Alexsandr feels the scalding heat within him building and screaming for more. 

_“Okayokayokay!”_ he gasps, hands slipping and grasping at Zeb’s thrusting hand. “Enough. Now: _inside me.”_

The Lasat actually _smirks_. If Alexsander was not so lost in the wonderful pleasure of it, he would scowl at himself for rewarding the rebel with even more ego. As it is, it takes everything that he has not to croon with delight as the Lasat grasps his heavy, brilliant-purple cock and drags it over the folds of his opening. 

“Well, since yer askin’ so _nicely…”_ Zeb purrs. 

He presses the heart-shaped head _just_ inside Alexsandr, who begins to _beg._

“...How do you wan’ this?” 

Alexsandr cannot breathe. _SO CLOSE. SO CLOSE. NEARLY._

“ _Rough!”_ he gasps, “ _Fast!_ Give it to me as deep as you can possibly go. And _soon,_ please.” 

Zeb gives a shuddering sigh, and he adjusts his grip to hold the tender flesh of the human’s sides. Obviously, the pleasure of this moment is giving to him as much as it is giving to Alexsandr. His fingertips work back and forth in the muscle for a moment, until he is satisfied with his grip. 

“T-that’s pretty hard,” Zeb groans. 

His eyes are nearly closed, and his mouth is hanging open. He is panting. 

“My equal,” Kallus reminds him. 

And Zeb _does._

Alexsandr Kallus is weeping, begging, _screaming_ with pleasure as Zeb pounds into him. Even with how wet and prepared he is, the sheer size of the Lasat is enough to rub rough and hot at the edges. Omegas like Alexsandr--that is, paired with both sets of reproductive organs--have all the functionality, and yet, less of the space as many others. Kallus is grateful for _every inch_ of what space he has as Zeb stretches and pushes and thrusts inside of him, feeling as though his stomach and lungs are shifting within his body as he is impaled like never before. 

_This is better than Coruscant,_ he thinks to himself, blissed out and tear-stained with satisfaction. _This is even better than Lasan. It’s the best._

Realizing that it is, in fact, a _Lasat_ that is buried balls-deep inside of him brings yet another fresh wave of electric pleasure to Alexsandr, and the agent cries out just seconds before he comes upon Zeb’s furry forearms. 

“Mmm, _yeah,”_ the Lasat praises, flexing his arms. “That’s good, Alexsandr.” 

Zeb is not finished, however. His pace only increases after the human comes, and he sinks into a kneel rather than an elevated crouch to drive even further into the human. His tongue is hanging out of his mouth, and his back is arched as he powers forward to wring every last ounce of pleasure from his human lover. Alexsandr groans, letting his head fall back against the stone floor in the rapture of it. Lying on his back, he can see the glittering, warm light of the meteorite--the swirling flakes of the snowstorm--and, just beyond, the shimmering light of the stars. He feels drunk, and possessed, and wholly, completely taken care of.

 _Best,_ he thinks again. _How can I keep him forever. How can I make sure that he never stops._

As if he has sensed a shift, something changes in the Lasat’s rhythm. He begins to stutter, and the claws that are in his flesh start to dig into his skin. When Zeb starts to whine, rhythmic with his pants, Kallus looks up with raised eyebrows. 

“M’ gonna come,” Zeb explains hoarsely. “T-think ya can take my knot?” His voice is now shaking nearly as much as his tensed, quaking body. “I wanna…” he closes his eyes, staving off the edge. “...I wanna give it to ya. Real _bad.”_

Kallus sighs and shivers. 

_YES!_ his mind screams.

Of those who have provided for him in the peak of his cycle, only a few, Alpha, non-human males had ever provided him with that delicious experience. Whether barbs or knots, tendrils or plugs, those lovers had locked his body into place with theirs, filling him past the point of acceptance with their various and plentiful cum. It meets yet another itch deep inside Alexsandr; and, for a moment, he laments the long-term preventative measures he’s taken against Omega pregnancy. _(As good as scratching that itch is, he knows what he does and does not want, far beyond this heated moment)._

“Yesss,” he invites, shifting his hips. “ _Karabast,_ that sounds good to me.” 

To his surprise, the Lasat makes a noise that almost sounds like a whimper. “ _Thank you,”_ he groans, eyes watering with gratitude. “O-oh kay, I’m, it’ll be--” 

Whatever Zeb was preparing him for, it happens too soon for him to say. Alexsandr tenses and yelps as something heavy and _thick_ shifts within the Lasat’s erection, shooting upwards and outwards from the head still buried inside of him. His eyes water with pleasure and... _pain_ as what feels like an angular, star-shaped wedge digs into the soft, sensitive flesh of his prostate. Immediately, the already sizable girth of his erection swells in size and texture, rippling with layers and edges that expand and _cling_ with hooked edges into his walls. 

“ _OH!”_

Zeb snarls, lurches forward, and sinks his claws into Kallus’ arms and shoulders. With astonishing strength, he lifts the human off of his back, and gathers him close against his chest, sitting upright on his shifting erection. 

“...Huh,” Alexsandr murmurs dreamily in surprise. 

Because after the pain arrives a soothing, slick, _delicious_ feeling of sleepy pleasure. It is not unlike the times that he has been pricked with a medical, numbing agent: the bite of a needle, followed by thick, buzzy silence of rest. 

Zeb is purring loudly around him. His huge arms encase him, and Alexsandr’s forehead rests against the Lasat’s warm expanse of chest. He feels his lover’s heartbeat thrumming steadily beneath his cheek, and he strokes his hands up through the fur until they are pillowed on either side of his head. In a strangely intimate moment, he kisses the overheated skin of the Lasat, feeling a ripple of movement beneath his touch. He sighs, relaxed and contented, against the other man, feeling himself coming down from the sweet cocktail of his Omega high. 

The soft sound of Zeb’s voice stirring him back into consciousness makes the agent realize that he’s been sleeping.

“Whazzat?” he mumbles, smooth accent all but discarded. 

Zeb chuckles. He brushes one of Alexsandr’s fallen, blonde hairs away from his sweating face. 

“I _said_ that you’re a liar,” the Lasat teases. “You told me _four_ or _five,”_

The intensity of his knot has receded. He is still inside of him, and will likely be for quite some time, but Kallus does not feel any sensation of pain. He only feels protected, and cared for. Forgetting the fact that they are an Imperial and a rebel--a human and a Lasat--two sworn enemies--Alexsandr smiles and sighs contentedly against him. 

“Mmmnnn. Didn’t lie,” Alexsandr murmurs, settling back into sleep. “That’s how it is between bonded partners. For the Omegas who have found their Alphas.” 

He feels the hazy grip of sleep--as well as the shy, tentative brush of Zeb’s lips upon his forehead--as he is fading away once more into sleep. 

“Bonded partners, huh?” the Lasat whispers. “Equals?” 

“Mmmm,” he agrees. 

He falls asleep. 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

* * *

TWO

* * *

When he finally sees Alexsandr Kallus again, it’s the first time since that night together on the ice moon.

And he looks  _ terrible _ .

In spite of his rigorous IBS training, torture has left the Omega with a shining black eye, a split, swollen lip, and a patchwork of purple-green bruises along his muscular, freckled chest. The battered defector is slumped, shirtless, against the wall of the Ghost's dim medical bay. His golden eyes look weary and old in the greenish light of his bacta pads, and he seems much less confident than the last time he'd been in the same space as the Lasat. 

He sure  _ smells _ delicious, though.

“Hey there,” Zeb greets the other man softly.

Kallus jolts upright in his posture at his low voice. The former-Imperial's anxious, golden eyes flick towards the door of the med-bay where Zeb is standing, and his bandaged hands twitch reflexively within his binders. The sight of it makes Zeb's heart twist within his chest; however, the reassured,  _ relieved  _ look that the other man gives him when he sees that it's the Lasat who has entered makes him practically  _ melt.  _

_ “Garazeb?” _

The former Imperial smiles shyly at him. Just as on the ice moon, Kallus' hair has fallen loose from its rigid composure, and has tumbled into lovely, free-falling, golden strands around his face. It makes his severe, square-jawed appearance look softer. More vulnerable. It also makes Garazeb's heart  _ stutter.  _

“Ah, hey there... _ Kal _ ,” he returns.

He doesn't know what to call the other man.  _ If  _ he should call the other man. 

"It's, um, er, uh, good to see ya." 

_ Kriffing understatement of the year!  _ Truth be told, he's not been able to  _ refrain _ from dreaming about the other man since thier heated night on Bahryn. Garazeb vividly remembers each moment of that fateful, unexpected encounter: the way that his former enemy had kept his composure until the very, last lucid thoughts before his heat; the way that he’d calmly presented them both with a choice that could, somehow, preserve their honor, dignity, and even sanity within in that tense moment; the way that he’d  _ begged  _ Zeb to fill him with his  _ knot-- _ to unload into him with his hot, excessive, lilac-white cum--

“It’s good to see you, too, er,  _ Captain Orrelios _ ,” Kallus replies.

Despite the formality, the former Imperial sounds a bit... _ breathless _ . Color flushes his bare, freckled chest, flooding the pale skin rose-red. Although he has taken a beating, no amount of injury can take away the striking handsomeness of such a powerfully-built fighter. Kallus has strong, thick pectoral muscles, a sculpted abdominal structure, and lovely, compact rippling biceps. Zeb notices that his blush has crept up from his chest and now rests underneath the blonde nest of his muttonchops. It's charming.

"Um, ah. Yeah."

_What am I to you?_ he wonders, gazing intently down at the man. Just over a year has passed between them, and yet the Omega appears to be the same, unexpectedly honorable man who had cried out within the circle of his shaking arms, who had fallen asleep on his chest. _What are we, to one another?_ _Am I your old nemesis, 'Agent Kallus?' Am I your new, professional teammate to the Rebellion's 'Agent Fulcrum'? Or perhaps,_ his mouth twists in a grimace, _I am not even one of those things? Perhaps, I am nothing to you. Just an Alpha who happened to service 'Omega Alexsandr' at the time of need. An...acquaintance._

Something about his expression must worry the other man, because he rushes to speak.

"I h-hope that you are not  _ as...displeased _ to see me as some of the others," he begins, "although, it would not be unfair. However strange it is, truth be told, I have been much looking forward to seeing you again, Captain." 

Zeb feels a fluttering of warmth in his chest. 

"Oh. Er. Yeah?" 

_ "Yes," _ Kallus replies earnestly. But then, just as quickly, his fragile smile fades. His eyes grow tired once more, and he brushes back a handful of sandy hair. It is difficult, given the binders.

"However. For all that I wanted us to be reunited, I did not imagine that it would go quite like... _ this." _

Garazeb stands in the doorway, unsure. He feels as though he should draw closer. He  _ wants  _ go closer, given that earthy, delicious aroma rolling off the other man's skin. A smell that he has difficulty placing, but that he likes and craves very much: like sweet, crushed meiloorun fruit; and spicy curry; and  _ home.  _ However, he does not know where they stand, or what they mean to each other...

...Let alone the fact that Kallus is, perhaps, a Rebellion criminal and traitor. 

"Like what, Kal?" he prompts.

The former agent winces. He twists his binder-clad hands in repentance, looking like a man far older than his middle-aged years. "Like  _ Atollon _ ," he whispers. "I never meant for any of this to happen. Any of the battles. Any of this bloodshed. All those people, Zeb..." he hesitates, face contorted with pain, “...all of those  _ deaths _ . I feel so much pain! I feel so  _ responsible _ for them! As though they were all counting on me, thier friends and their families, and that I have failed in my duty to protect them."

He drops his head into his hands. 

“As though I am a  _ failure _ .” 

Garazeb makes a quiet noise of sympathy. Leaving the doorway, he crosses the medical bay to stand near Alexsandr Kallus. When he hears the soft sounds of the other man weeping, he kneels to settle on the pads of his jumpsuit. 

“Try not to beat yerself up too bad, Kal,” he murmurs, careful. 

Alexsandr Kallus sucks in a shuddering breath, peering up through his dripping hands. “And why  _ not _ ?” he groans. “I  _ am _ responsible! Their blood is on my hands, Garazeb. As the current Fulcrum, it was my duty to protect and guard them, along with all the secrets of our people. And…” he swallows, tears falling in earnest now, “And, they couldn’t rely on me, in the end. I let them down.  _ I let them die."  _

Zeb’s fingertips twitch. He longs to reach out for the other man. Still uncertain of where they stand, he instead purrs low and kind in his throat. He hopes that the familiar, warm sound of it will be a comfort. 

“I hear ya,” he assures him. “I hear ya, Kal. And I’m sorry that yer goin’ through this right now.”

When he looks up at Zeb again, hiccuping through his tears, the Lasat gives up on trying to restrain himself. Instead he reaches out, threading his four-fingered hands through the threads of his hair and pulling him tightly into his chest. Instantly _ , _ Zeb is awash with the  _ rightness  _ of it: the feeling of wholeness,  _ completion _ , at having Kallus' body pressed against his own. In the gesture, Garazeb is transported back to that heated night on Bahryn when he'd held the Omega close to his own, cooling body and breathed a prayer of thanks to the Ashla.  _ How could it be that my greatest foe should be my true equal?  _

“Look..." Zeb begins, holding him close. "I...I  _ know _ that yer hurting right now. An’ that really matters. And yet...at the same time..."

The Lasat shifts, searching for the right words.

“I also want ya to know  _ this _ . Alexsandr Kallus: yer worth  _ more _ than this bad moment. This  _ failure.  _ Yeah, yer right: it’s pretty kriffing terrible, to see violence this awful and this big. An.." he closes his eyes, allowing himself to breathe through his own pain for a moment, "An' it seems like the end of the world, to feel like yer the one who is responsible for that kindov death." Zeb takes a shaking inhale of breath. He feels the human growing calmer within his arms, sinking against his own warmth and steadiness through the pain. “But that’s not who ya ultimately are. And yer not gonna have to go through sorting all of this out alone. Because you’ve got  _ me _ with ya now. And  _ I’m in yer corner.”  _

The former ISB agent slowly lowers his hands. Tears cling to his long eyelashes, and Garazeb sees his own reflection staring back at him from those wet, golden spheres. 

“I’m here for ya, Kal,” he repeats. “And I’m gonna stay here. Well: at least, as as long as ya want me to.” 

The moment is long, fragile, and quiet.

Zeb watches Kallus, and he hopes that his words have come through for him. He does not want to lose the other man, not  _ again _ . And...as he watches...he begins to  _ suspect _ that he  _ won't.  _ Because--and it may very well just be his own imagination--but the Lasat  _ thinks _ that he sees something transforming behind those amber eyes. As though something fractured is being re-forged, molten-gold, into something beautiful.

Finally, he answers him. 

“I do want you,” Alexsandr Kallus replies in a whisper. "I do want you.  _ So very much, _ Garazeb." 

Zeb hears himself making a sound of delighted surprise as the human presses his open, searching mouth to his own.

Their kiss is not rough, like those many, urgent ones in the ice cave: it is soft, and unbearably tender _.  _ In it, Zeb feels an expression of the deep, aching need that he'd felt himself within the past year. He also feels a deep well of astonishingly powerful gratitude--as though the Lasat has caught him from falling once more. 

When they finally break away, breathless, Garazeb chuckles. Somehow, his Omega looks even  _ more  _ wrecked than when he'd first arrived: chest heaving, eyes hazy, mouth hanging open withn desire. 

"Mmm. Glad that's settled, then" he rumbles to Kallus. "An' to  _ think  _ that I was just here to ask you what name I should call ya." 

The other man throws back his head and  _ laughs.  _ It’s a delightful thing for Zeb witness: all of those sad, tired features illuminated with what must be pure, unabashed happiness. The sight of it radiates out from his face, flows down his strong shoulders, washes over Garazeb like a wave. 

He feels himself grinning. 

"Er. What  _ should  _ I call ya?" 

The human raises one hand to wipe at the corner of his eyes.

"Sasha," he replies, lovely mouth twitching with gentle amusement. “And you...?"

"Zeb,” he shrugs simply. “Still, just Zeb." 

"You're a  _ good man,  _ Zeb. A  _ far _ better man than I could ever be.”

The Lasat growls with indignation.

_ “Oi! _ Now, you stop that,  _ Sasha! _ We’re  _ equals,  _ you an’ me: ya said so yerself!” 

Sasha Kallus arches his angular eyebrows. His mouth twitches with amusement. With one, coy movement of his expression, the human has moved them into territory that is suddenly,  _ shockingly  _ more intimate. 

“Ah,  _ yes _ ,” he replies in a smooth voice,“I suppose that I  _ did _ .” 

Once again, the room becomes still and quiet for another long moment. But this one, however, is  _ heated. _

Zeb suspects that Sasha is _also_ remembering the last time that they’d exchanged such nature of words: moments before the Omega had implored Zeb to fuck him and fill him with his Alpha knot in the ice cave.Shivering at the memory, he recalls the way that he’d rocked the other man into the cold, slippery floor, thrusting into him until the pair of them burst.

His suspicions are confirmed when Sasha gazes back at him  _ hungrily _ . His wet, pink tongue swipes across his split, plush lower-lip. 

“.... _ About _ that,” he begins, speaking slowly and carefully. 

Zeb quickly raises both hands. He doesn’t want to be misunderstood.  _ Of course I want him--with everything that I have--but he’s also been  _ tortured _ today! I’m not some kind of  _ animal.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Garazeb rushes to say. “Sasha, please don’t feel any kinda pressure on  _ this _ end. I’m good to wait. Uh. I know that we had a...a  _ good time  _ when we were last together, and,  _ karabast,  _ I'm game if we want to go at it again, but---I don't wanna hurt ya, an’--” 

He finds himself slowing down in his hurried speech at the expression upon Sasha’s face. 

“I am,” the Omega says carefully, “once again, approaching the peak of my heat.” 

Zeb finds himself sitting  _ very  _ still. 

“I apologize for approaching such a delicate topic. If I were a smarter man, I would have...  _ planned  _ for such a precarious situation. I have no excuse, particularly after Bayrhn, as you know. I should be keeping backup suppressants upon my person at all times. And  _ yet-- _ ” he exclaims, temper flaring, “ what are the  _ odds _ that the Grand Admiral would choose  _ this particular time _ to confront me about my identity as Agent Fulcrum? That I would be forced to flee from my position in the Empire without so much as my bo-rifle or medications?” Sasha throws his binder-clad hands in the air. “Yes, I  _ know _ that he’s some kind of tactical genius, but I did not account for his planning in  _ this _ matter! I wonder, had you not rescued me, what I--” 

Garazeb  _ snarls.  _ The intensity of his glare hushes Sasha Kallus into to a mumble. 

“...As I said,” he finishes quietly, “I do not want to offend you, nor make you feel obligated. And yet, perhaps…” 

He smells  _ very  _ good.

“...perhaps, you might be willing…” 

The Lasat rumbles. He drops his tone to his deepest, most smoldering decibel, allowing the timbur to roll low and commanding. It isn’t loud, and yet, he can see without a doubt that he has the man’s fullest attention.

_ “Sasha,”  _ he purrs, “Don’ you be sorry. Don’ you  _ ever  _ be sorry about your heat, or how others might try an’ manipulate that. Yer heat isn’t wrong...just like  _ you  _ ain’t wrong. And I sure as  _ kriff _ ain’t mad about...what I think yer askin me here.”

He considers the human. 

“What  _ are  _ ya askin’?” 

Alexsandr shivers. He gazes down at the tension building within Zeb’s jumpsuit. Now more than ever, there is that delicious, familiar, mouth-watering smell rolling off of his sweating skin. And-- now that Zeb is actively thinking about the pheromones--he cannot pause in huffing in deep breaths of the Omega’s scent, allowing it to fill his nostrils and captivate his mind. 

“Sasha?” Zeb prompts after a moment of this. He feels himself drawn towards the other man’s heat like a magnet, but steels himself for the answer. “I need to hear it. I need ya to say it, out loud. If you want me... _ tell me. _ Tell me what ya  _ want _ .” 

Sasha Kallus releases a shuddering sigh. He raises his arms, binders and all, and he loops them around Zeb's powerful neck. Grinding the bristling hair of his blonde mutton chops against Zeb’s purple, bristling beard, he whines and sucks in lungfuls of the Lasat’s scent. 

_ “I want to fuck you,” _ he breathes into Zeb’s ear. “I want to feel your body again. I want to be inside of you; for you to be inside of me. I want  _ everything.”  _

Zeb’s responding, resonant purr is an announcement of his approval. 

“Then you  _ shall _ ,” Zeb promises, whispering to him in an echo of the Omega’s own elegant, Coroscanti tones. “You shall have me, my equal, in  _ every way possible.” _

He unlocks the binders.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you have the time. <3


End file.
